So this is Christmas
by aquamarine-jo
Summary: Christmas in the Pink House with Annie, George and Mitchell


Christmas Day in the Pink House, early series two. Now I know that Chrstmas didn't actually happen in series two, but in my world it did...

Again, a reminder that Being Human belongs in Toby Whithouse's toybox and I'm just playing with it while he's nipped out for batteries...

* * *

><p><strong>So this is Christmas...<strong>

They'd done their best but it had been a huge amount of food, a ridiculous amount of food. Annie had been preparing for weeks and the table was still laden even though George and Mitchell had long since admitted defeat (and surreptitiously undone a button or two...)

Annie leapt to her feet, smiling at them.

"Pudding! Don't move an inch."

Mitchell and George both groaned and she stopped halfway to the stove, her face falling.

"Don't you like Christmas pudding? It's got charms in it and I've made my special brandy butter."

She looked so crestfallen that George and Mitchell looked at each other and sighed. They hated upsetting Annie, those big brown eyes would look so wounded and they just couldn't bear it.

"Of course we want pudding" George started. "It looks fantastic!"

He looked at Mitchell in an unspoken plea for help and he carried on.

"We just need a break before we explode, maybe a nap. No, George, not a board game. Later. Maybe." He grinned. "And yes, you can be the dog."

George had been edging towards the Monopoly but he sat back in his chair and belched as quietly as he could.

"Oh, all right then. OK." Annie saw the relief on their faces and smiled. She'd noticed the undone buttons and the shared look of panic at the thought that she might cry. She wouldn't have, of course, not over pudding, but she liked to keep them on their toes.

"Go and have a snooze while I wash up."

They started to mutter some half-hearted protests about her doing all the work but she shooed them out with a tea towel. She watched from the doorway as they settled in their chairs, the TV on quietly, shoes kicked off. George made a pretence of looking at the Radio Times which he had neatly highlighted in different colours but it was just too much effort and he drifted off to sleep. Mitchell was slumped – as usual – but his normal watchfulness relaxed as his eyes half closed. Even his vampire stamina proved to be no match for Annie's Christmas dinner.

As Annie headed back into the kitchen to tackle the debris and leftovers covering the table and make a start on the washing up, the boys slid into that half awake, half asleep state where dreams and reality merged. Memories resurfaced from where they normally managed to keep them hidden and became so vivid that it was like reliving old times – both good and bad. Annie didn't dream - she didn't sleep - but as her busy hands carried on with the familiar kitchen routines her mind wandered too.

* * *

><p><strong>In the bleak midwinter...<strong>

George woke slowly, puzzled and aching. Hung over? Maybe, it was Christmas after all... His head was resting on something soft and he reached out to plump up what should have been a pillow. It was a rabbit. Most of a rabbit.

That was when the cold hit him. He looked around, his eyes clearing, his memory coming back. He was in a wood, naked and muddy, frozen with cold and surrounded by the remains of several rabbits. It was a bit hard to tell how many but he didn't think he'd need to eat for a while.

The full moon had fallen on Christmas Eve and now it must be Christmas morning. George got up and looked down at himself, he was filthy but unharmed and there was no point in trying to get cleaned up. He had nothing to put on anyway. His eyes were still extra sharp, it was useful to see where he was but he hated the enhanced senses; it just reminded him of what had happened. Of what he had become. There were some houses nearby, he could see them through the trees and he hoped for some washing to steal, just enough to get him home. He hated to steal and always returned whatever he took, leaving them on the doorstep perfectly laundered, but he had no other idea of how to manage the curse. He wouldn't even think about it between the full moons so he just survived, he deserved nothing more. Trouble was who does a wash on Christmas Day? There was not a scrap of clothing to be seen in any of the gardens as far as his sharp eyes could see. So now what?

He walked a little way through the trees, he could hear a road and the occasional cars passing, probably full of happy families heading off to lunch and presents. He knew he couldn't walk home as he was and he found a couple of tatty carrier bags caught in the bushes. He managed to fashion them into a sort of loincloth – not pretty but at least he was decent. He looked insane but he steeled himself to the inevitable ridicule and started the long walk home. The pavements were rough but his feet were soon numb with cold so what did that matter?

There was hardly anyone about and he stuck to the back alleys and quiet streets and was only ten minutes away from the refuge of his dingy bedsit when a car drew up behind him. He didn't look around, he just kept going, plodding on at a steady pace as the car followed him. He didn't want to ask for trouble but eventually he turned, ready to shout at whoever was following him but he found he had no voice. His teeth were chattering so hard he couldn't speak.

Probably a good thing – it was a police car that was following him. The officers wanted to help, George was a pathetic sight, his feet bleeding, muddy and mute and they decided that there was only one thing they could do. They scooped him up, wrapped him in a blanket and took him to the Salvation Army.

Much as George knew he should tell people he was fine, he just wanted to go home, he seemed unable to do so and when he was shown where he could take a hot bath and given some old but clean clothes he just did what he was told. A soak in the hot water brought him back to himself and when he was clean and dressed he went in search of the Officer who had welcomed him warmly and without a single question, not even a look of pity.

George didn't go home that Christmas. He stayed. He talked to the lonely, served food to the hungry and translated for those who struggled with English. Seeing so much desperation and poverty and the selfless way that people had given up their own time to try and help, to bring a little cheer, helped put his own night into perspective.

He hated the wolf, the curse, he always would but it was only one night a month, one full moon. Maybe in between he could find a way to live a good life. Maybe one day someone would be able to help him, someone who understood what he was.

He just wanted a human life.

* * *

><p><strong>Deck the halls...<strong>

Herrick's Christmas parties were legendry. The surroundings were sumptuous, the service immaculate and the food and drink always the very best. Evening dress was non-negotiable and even Mitchell tamed his hair and made an effort – after all, the event was unmissable. On some occasions Herrick changed the theme, the masked ball was a particular success, but whatever the dress code the champagne flowed and the company was sparkling.

Herrick hosted as if he was born to it, and carefully chosen gifts showed just how well he knew his flock. And proved a salutary reminder should they think that they could deceive him. He sat at the head of the table and there was a quiet but often vicious rivalry among the female vampires about who should sit at the foot as Herrick's partner for the evening. The battle always amused Mitchell. Herrick had a way about him, a charm that drew women to him and kept them there. Mitchell knew that he was useful to Herrick in that way – his own rather more obvious appeal brought plenty of admirers into their orbit and more often than not one or more would be captivated by Herrick's twinkling blue eyes, often without them realising what was happening. Mitchell didn't mind, it interested him, he couldn't see what the appeal was not realising that he too was taken in by Herrick's magnetism. Why else would he have stayed at his side so unquestioningly and for so long? He didn't begrudge him his conquests, after all Mitchell took more than his fair share and while Herrick liked a pretty woman on his arm that seemed to be all. He was naturally solitary, a watcher – and those were some of the depths in his maker that Mitchell had never fathomed.

Alongside the glittering evening for the vampires ran an altogether different event. Herrick ran a charity – not hands on, of course – but one that provided a good meal for those with no one and nowhere to go at Christmas. The waifs and strays were offered warm beds, hot baths and good food – although rather plainer fare than at Herrick's tables. They also had plenty to drink – something that was frowned on by most other charities and one reason why Herrick's mission was such a success. Once the food and drinks were exhausted, the mismatched guests lethargic and sleepy, the workers would go home to their own families, well paid for their efforts by their unseen but appreciative boss. It was then that the true purpose of Herrick's largess became clear.

When the glittering party had reached its peak the vampires wanted desert and figgy pudding was never going to be enough. Herrick led them to the isolated halls where his generous provision of food and drink had left the vulnerable even more so. The vampires descended in their finery and feasted. The doors were locked, the window shutters firmly closed, there was no one to see or hear and the vampires were able to embrace their essential natures in a way that was rarely possible.

Herrick alone never fed, he watched and he smiled. He remembered everyone and everything, stored it up, kept it safe.

Information was power.

Mitchell had enjoyed the parties as much as anyone for many years, despite his hatred of getting dressed up, especially the occasional years when he was required to wear a costume. Even when that voice of doubt began to whisper to him he still fed, joining the frenzy with the others, knowing they were watching him, watching the darkest of them all. The others all wanted to see him kill the most and the quickest – to be the last to be satisfied and he never disappointed them. It was only afterwards that he cared.

There were years when he hated it, the extravagance and the fake charity, but he still dressed up, he still went. Herrick had too much of a hold for him not to, it would not have occurred to him to refuse his maker. Anyway, once he tasted the first blood it was beyond him to stop.

He had avoided the last few parties and now Herrick was gone and the parties over. No one else would consider stepping into his place and frankly no one else had quite Herrick's sense of occasion. Or his organisational abilities. The relief at being free from his maker was still a bright light for Mitchell but deep down he missed him, even though he would deny it. Herrick had always been there and he mourned him more than he could even begin to explain. He felt adrift, even though Herrick had never accepted what he wanted, had always wanted to draw him back, ridiculing his dreams.

Would anyone ever understand who he really was? He dared not tell anyone the truth about himself. Maybe one day he'd find a haven of sorts, people he could be honest with.

Somewhere he could be the person he dreamed of being.

* * *

><p><strong>All I want for Christmas is you...<strong>

Annie had always loved Christmas. Her family spent the holiday together and since she was a child it had been a feast of noise and laughter, presents and games. They shouted over each other, teased each other and despite the chaos managed to produce a huge dinner eaten at a collection of mismatched tables and chairs of different heights and that just added to the laughter. They even managed to enjoy a proper high tea as well that was almost as vast.

She couldn't imagine not going home for Christmas and as much as she enjoyed college she couldn't wait to get away at the end of her first term. She hurried home to the cheerful bedlam, lugging her bags of presents on the train, wearing her Christmas earrings and a silver tinsel boa. She loved it all – and she laughed with the people who laughed at her gaudy decoration, her shining happiness making their day a little brighter.

It was after that Christmas that she met Owen and the next year he took it for granted she would spend Christmas with him at his parent's. She wanted to please him and so she agreed but it was not a great success. His family were formal and cold, it wasn't that they disliked her, they just had their own ways of doing things and the loud chaos she was used to they considered to be terribly vulgar. Despite the impeccably decorated tree and professionally wrapped gifts it bordered on austere. Annie fidgeted under the restraints and said all the wrong things and Owen got cross. He didn't say anything and they were pointedly put in separate rooms so they were never alone to talk, but she knew. She didn't sleep much, knowing that he was in his childhood bedroom brooding.

They left on Boxing Day and she hurried off to the warmth of her family. Owen wouldn't go with her, he had things to do, she didn't know what and she had learned already not to question him. It was to be the last time she saw her family without him at her side.

After that they spent Christmas alone. They visited their families beforehand – just to get it over with, as Owen always said. He expected Annie to cook exactly the same meal his mother had always served and although they created a feeling of cosy domesticity that fooled all of their friends Annie lived on her nerves. Everything had to be just so, just as Owen demanded. She couldn't – wouldn't – disappoint him.

Every Christmas it seemed that she got more and more wrong. Her presents were too generous, extravagant beyond need but the next time she was berated for being mean. The food was never right – too hot, too cold, she didn't use his mother's recipe for the stuffing, why hadn't she polished the glasses properly? Annie's wonderful Christmas traditions turned sour, it was all about walking on eggshells to try and please him and crying quietly in the bathroom, scared he'd hear her.

It wasn't his fault though. He had a stressful job, he got so tired and she knew she wasn't easy to live with. He just wanted what was best for her and she just had to try harder. Every year she vowed that next year she'd get it right and he'd be happy and loving, the Owen she knew she loved more than anything else in the world.

Their last Christmas (although she didn't know that then) had been the worst. She had put cheerful decorations on the cake, Santa and the reindeer instead of the plain white icing and tasteful holly he expected. When she presented it proudly at tea time he glared at her, demanding to know why she had ruined the cake, made it cheap and nasty. Biting her lip against the tears she tried to pacify him, it was the right recipe after all but his temper was fiercer than ever and he knocked the cake out of her hands letting it crash to the ground in pieces, ruining it. He stood over her as she cleaned it up and then pushed her hard into the kitchen. It was the first time he had ever laid a hand on her in anger – and it wouldn't be the last.

Annie sat in the kitchen, not daring to come out until he said she could, looking at the remains of all her hard work. She couldn't even cry, she was numb and even the bruises that were showing on her arm didn't hurt yet.

All she wanted was a happy Christmas. Surely Owen wanted the same, after all he loved her, he wanted to marry her. It wasn't unreasonable of him to expect things to be done right.

Maybe next year. She just had to try harder.

* * *

><p><strong>Wonderful Christmas time...<strong>

Annie had had enough of her memories and she always worried about the places and people that Mitchell and George might see when they slept. She gently woke the boys, or at least she tried to. Deep in their dreams they resisted her soft voice and she had to tweak George's ear and pull Mitchell's tangled fringe to get a response. They blinked at her and then smelled the Christmas pudding and climbed out of their chairs, heading off to the kitchen like excited children.

Annie had reset the table and there were more crackers and fresh candles and cheesy Christmas songs playing. They pulled the crackers, laughed at the jokes and wore the hats. Even Mitchell was persuaded to wear a hat, although it soon slid off. Annie served the pudding flaming with brandy and it was even better than it smelled. The flaming oven glove was soon extinguished under the tap.

Mitchell and George had second helpings, although George quizzed Annie on the exact combination of spices she'd used until Mitchell got bored and started firing sultanas at him with the mini catapult that had been in his cracker. He scored a direct hit on George's left ear and he looked startled, upset and hard done by all at once, making Mitchell laugh. He knew George would get his revenge later. He really was going to have to play Monopoly now. Maybe he could persuade him to play Mitchell's cherished Vampire board game instead. He'd found it in a junk shop and loved it, it always made him laugh and – frankly – it was more fun than Monopoly. Especially as George always won, piling up property and money as if he'd been born a banker. He'd only ever lost once, on that memorable evening when Annie realised she could make the dice stop wherever she liked!

No detail of their perfect dinner had been forgotten and Annie had put old fashioned silver charms in the pudding. Mitchell found the wishbone and he tucked it carefully away in his wallet.

"Thanks Annie. I'll save it. One day I may really need a wish granted!"

George found the bell, the bell of betrothal. Once they had thumped him firmly on the back to stop him choking on it and his face was less red and his eyes had stopped streaming he looked at it and wondered. He sighed and they knew he was thinking of Nina. Maybe the charm would work... Somehow.

Annie couldn't eat the pudding but she had served herself a small potion and sorted through it to find a charm. For a moment she thought she didn't have one, that she was truly invisible but it was there. The thimble of blessedness.

Brandy and coffee followed the pudding, there were even After Eight mints and they all sat back and smiled at each other. No one needed to say it – they all knew.

Whatever their Christmases past and their Christmases future this was now, Christmas present, and they were a family together.


End file.
